I have just ran an ultramarathon

On a warm sunny morning, on a train bound for nowhere, in February, to a faraway place called Donadea, is a Mayo lass alone, on a long awaited journey to run loops through a forest and achieve an ultramarathon goal.

Many think it’s crazy, many think it’s mad, but this journey has actually kept me from going mad. It’s all a bit surreal and really is like waking up from a wonderful dream. When one is so busy and a task is achieved, you sometimes jump straight into the next task without time to process anything. I cannot believe it’s over, I cannot believe I ran 50-kilometres as part of the National Championships, in a forest of loops, in February, at the busiest time of year.

The week was mental, trying to get finished for midterm break, students away on Erasmus, a young lad’s disco, a young girl’s athletics, animals needing to be brought for sale, early lambs arriving and just to make travelling a lot worse, a harsh day of frost promised. In order to just make the race, all the family is brought on board to assist with children, animals, taxiing and all the other errands of life. I’m not good at leaving it all behind, a guilt creeps in.

With frost a possibility, family convince me to travel the evening before, so more last minute planning, plotting and packing. Finally, one reaches the East and prepares for the morning. I haven’t had time to think but during the week, when having a few moments, I had a talk to myself and made a promise to only think positive thoughts, to know that I am strong, trained and confident, that I am going to do this.

The morning arrives, a fresh, harsh, cold air but humidity is 100 per cent. I plan to run light today, reckoning the less I have to carry for 31 miles the better. I won’t be long warming up.

On driving into Donadea, seeing the brown Coillte sign, I smile. I’m sorted. Trees, nature, water, I have this. On parking up I see supporters with tables, chairs, food, flasks, all set to encourage their heroes. I see campervans, families eating breakfast, I see club tents, I hear the accents from Dublin, Meath, Kildare, but no familiar West of Ireland slang. I feel very alone in a big place surrounded by people in their familiar place surrounded by familiar faces and familiar sounds. I begin to miss my running buddies, my familiar competitors and my No.1 supporters – my family.

Today I run alone, no buddies, no support. But their presence is with me; the most beautiful good luck note from my daughter, a coin from my son in my running belt, the images, the memories and the achievement of solo training runs all are with me today. My mind is full of positive thoughts, trained to overcome the negative. When obstacles arise, I will overcome them. Right now the loneliness could take over, but on entering the forest I become transformed; the buzz, the music, the excitement, the laughter, a friendless among strangers is felt, a support among people up for a challenge is shared, a helpfulness and generosity among volunteers is heartily welcomed.

The familiar routine is followed – a walk back to the car, race number pinned on, last drop of water, running belt on, toilet stop and head for the race briefing. There is a fresh, coolness in February wearing a running vest; I wear mine with pride, the green and red shines out in an ocean where inlets of club colours fade in the background. There is a power in Mayo in the East.

A kilometre walk to the start line, with part of the course flooded and a tree down we’ve now fourteen laps to complete instead of ten and the crowd is not happy. I know no different though, I’ve trained for ten but at this stage I’m raring to go; a steward warns me to go out handy or I’ll suffer early, and boy was he right.

We’re led down an alleyway through the forest, the ground wet and mucky, this reminds me of my own forest in Clonbur. I’m used to this space but some are not. We’re told it’s slippery in parts, water on each loop, and then it’s ready, steady, go. A group of hardy males and females begin a forest adventure, running in circles through trees, over pebbles, stones, twigs, branches, through puddles, muck and dirt, alongside a river and lake. I begin fast and the heartrate shoots up – I soon remember the warning and slow down. My feet are already wet, we reach a flood, some try to tip toe around, there’s no point, I run fast through it, the feel of the ice cold water on my toes, the splashes of slush, dirty water up my calves, a refreshing feeling, followed by a lovely downhill, a steep uphill, over the bridge, alongside the river.

On a loop repeated fourteen times, one notices everything, reminding me of some wonderful past adventures, like the dangerous downhill on the Madeira mountains at the World Mountain Running Championships. It brings a smile. And when I think this begins to feel tough, I remember the vertical mile challenge running for Ireland in Slovenia, the burn, the no choice but to keep going. I remember some ultra-training runs, coming face to face with the wild deer in Knockma, on running on ice in Clonbur Woods, and running during a wind and rain weather warning on Inishmore. These are what has got me here today.

I am feeling great, I am going well but I’ve a long way to go. A fear exists in the back of one’s head, so much can go wrong; I am a soft soul and I already see casualties, some were chatting earlier and now not able to speak, so I halt the reins a bit. I begin to run a very cautious race, I’m already ahead of time, I can relax a bit, this is not a speed race for me today but a survival adventure. I don’t look at the miles but instead count loops; it’s a lot easier count fourteen times than 31 miles. The mind can play tricks and one can lose count.

The crowd spreads out and one gets into a group, some love to chat and some love to listen. I love to chat but today I’m going to conserve energy by hanging on the back, listening and learning; some have ran this many times and know what they are at. Everyone here is on their own journey, some experienced, some first timers, and if you focus on someone’s else’s journey then today could turn out to be a nasty experience. Yes it is hard not compete with others but in an ultramarathon, one doesn’t know what others are capable of, one knows their own capabilities and must focus on their own journey, no one else’s.

I never realised so much could go wrong in an ultra and it’s just as well otherwise I might not have come. From people cracking up to people cramping up, from crying to laughing, from getting sick to needing the toilet, from stopping to walking, from not being able to go any further to finishing injured – I’ve seen it all. I was fine until loop nine. I’m not sure was it that my body trained for ten and my mind didn’t know what to do, but something changed, the buzz began to fade a bit, I needed to slow down because I have to be enjoying this. Needing to concentrate hard on counting the laps, I was very aware of how many were left and beginning to suffer at this stage was not an option. With having plenty of time in the bank I can afford to pull back a bit, just get to twelve and the last two will happen.

Fuelling for an ultra is very difficult; one must consume enough energy to avoid hitting the wall but avoid getting sick. When running for a long time, even sweets can be hard to stomach.

The strangers today become our friends, the supporters our family. The crowd takes a liking to the green and red, on each loop cheering for Mayo, getting louder on each completion. How I look forward, to seeing the yellow vest man at each water station, to the black haired girl with the sign ‘Hurry up Mam, we’re hungry’, to the smart guy past the river who shouts ‘Mayo for Sam’ each time. One creates a bond with people through eye contact, emotions getting stronger on each loop. Sometimes it’s complete happiness, sometimes loneliness, sometimes the buzz, sometimes the toughness, sometimes the doubt but always the faith, the belief. The same man hands me a bottle of water each time, giving me a positive boost. I think he knows I am alone today – body language is a powerful form of communication. I thank him each time, he tells me I am strong, telling me I am going to do this. I smile. With two loops to go I am nearly there, but the mind can play terrible tricks. On the last loop I can’t see him, I begin to worry. He is behind the table, he sees me coming, runs out with the water, smiles and tells me I have got this. With a kilometre to go I take off, my legs get faster, my arms pump harder, I begin to pass people and I feel bad as they are struggling. I encourage, I shout to come on and it makes me stronger.

I hear the cheers, I hear the music, the supporters I have made friends with today lift me over the difficulties, power me up the last hill through the crowd. I see the light, the finish sign, I run as fast as my tired legs can carry me across the line. I scream “are we done?” I need to be certain, reassured. I am overcome with emotions, wired, overjoyed, tearful but completely full of pride in what I have achieved.

This journey was always alone, training, travelling, running through miles of treks and trails, through tough times, tough weather and tough dark winter mornings. Today the goal is achieved, this part of the journey is over. The next paths are road, races and speed.

On a warm spring evening, on a journey bound for Shrule, a Mayo lass returns, an ultra-marathon achieved. In life it’s only sometimes that you get an opportunity to accomplish something wonderful, and only sometimes that your body and mind are up for the challenge. Whatever that dream is, whatever that challenge is, if the body and mind are trained anything is possible. Never doubt yourself, always believe in the positive, have a talk to yourself and follow your own journey, no one’s else’s.